<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Slow Hands by bikuai</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791896">Slow Hands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikuai/pseuds/bikuai'>bikuai</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort, Gen, Insecurity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:41:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikuai/pseuds/bikuai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Can’t you see what you’ve done to my heart?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jesse McCree/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Slow Hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This has been sitting in my drafts for months so I cleaned it up and decided to post it. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His hands are never idle. They drift and scuttle and stretch when not preoccupied. Even when there is work to be done, his hands are in rapid motion. Practiced maneuvers are performed meticulously, each step completed one after the other. The repetition helps sometimes, when he can’t focus or there’s something on his mind. He’ll disassemble his Peacekeeper, lay out all the parts in front of him, clean them, then put them back together.</p><p> </p><p>It’s nice to watch him work so diligently on something he’s passionate about. Heartwarming almost. But it hurts to know there’s something else driving him, an inkling in the back of his mind. It’s impossible to know what it is, but it’s there.</p><p> </p><p>His bed is cold. The chill sleeps through your clothes as you curl up on your side. Jesse is still at his desk, illuminated only by the lamp there. The rest of the room is as dark as the evening sky that is somewhere far above your heads. All of the mechanisms that compose Peacekeeper are on the desk, and Jesse is making subtle adjustments to their placement. He doesn’t move to reassemble anything.</p><p> </p><p>Still as stone, you watch as he fidgets with pieces of the revolver. His brows are furrowed, presumably with frustration, and his ever-present easy smile has been replaced with a stern set of his lips. For a moment, he looks much too old for his age. Too disillusioned, too regretful.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesse?”</p><p> </p><p>He startles at the sound of his name before he realizes its source. His tired gaze comes to rest on your form, and he attempts a smile. “You scared me, darlin’. I thought you were asleep.” Jesse’s hands fall to the cleaning rag in his lap, wringing rhythmically.</p><p> </p><p>You cut straight to the point. “What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>He wants to say it’s nothing, he really does. He wants to brush off his anxieties and hide behind that veil of confidence, but he is beyond that, at least with you. With you, he is vulnerable, hesitant, fragile, and unmistakably human.</p><p> </p><p>“Sweetheart—” he always uses a lot of pet names when he’s nervous “—I’m just having those same old thoughts again. I know you love me, but it’s hard sometimes for me to feel, I don’t know...worthy? Y’know what I mean. I’ve never felt like I deserve you.”</p><p> </p><p>He pushes back from the desk and stands as he talks, pointedly not meeting your gaze. His hands tighten in the cloth.</p><p> </p><p>You sit up slowly, then stretch your arms toward Jesse. He recognizes the motion and takes a slow, uncertain step in the direction of the bed, then another. One hand frees itself from what you now recognize as part of an old serape.</p><p> </p><p>“Hell, I know I don’t deserve you. You could do better than a fugitive. You deserve better. Someone who‘ll treat you right, someone smart, someone who doesn’t disappear on missions for weeks at a time, someone who won’t go out and die on you...” He still doesn’t meet your eyes, left hand rubbing at the back of his neck.</p><p> </p><p>You give a disapproving hum at his claims, but don’t respond immediately. You slowly wrap your arms around yourself as you muse over what he said. Jesse waits patiently, shifting his weight from one leg to another. He knows when you need time.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesse,” you start. “You’re more than just your past. You’ve changed a lot since then, and I love you for that. Every day, you try your best to do the right thing, even if it’s dangerous. I trust you, and your occupation doesn’t change the way I feel. I know you’ll always come back to me.”</p><p> </p><p>He takes another few steps toward you. Both hands are back to folding the serape, and he dares to meet your gaze. “I just want you to be happy, darlin’. If we have a future together, it ain’t gonna be easy.”</p><p> </p><p>You nod. “That’s okay. We’ll have each other.”</p><p> </p><p>Jesse kneels in front of where you sit at the edge of the bed. He’s smiling now, tentatively. He tucks the cloth away in a pocket then brings his hands up to cradle yours. They’re warm and carry the aroma of oil and gunpowder.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we will have each other.” His thumbs smooth circles over your knuckles. “Even if the commander doesn’t like it when I hang around Overwatch agents.”</p><p> </p><p>His attempt at humor makes you smile. Though notoriously stubborn, the Blackwatch commander had long since given up on keeping the young cowboy from sneaking off to your quarters. Even now, when it’s you returning the favor by camping out in his room, you feel a bit of triumph. You’re here for him when he needs it most.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesse, do you want to know something?” You ask, freeing a hand to brush his hair out of his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Depends what it is,” he teases, leaning into your touch.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I just want you to know that…” You trail off, trying to find the words. He waits patiently. “Sometimes, when we’re together, I feel like <em> I’m </em> the one who doesn’t deserve <em> you</em>. You’re always so sweet and charming, but I think it’s the belt that does it.”</p><p> </p><p>At that, he laughs. It’s full and warm and sets your heart into a canter.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you think so? Well then—” his hands go to his pants, unfastening the belt “—I think I got just the solution, darlin.”</p><p> </p><p>The devilish smile that graces his lips keys you into his plan. You scurry backward, getting caught in the tangle of bedsheets. “Jesse!” You gasp as his hands tickle around your waist.</p><p> </p><p>He’s trying to get the belt onto you, but your squirming isn’t helping. He squeals as you retaliate with a barrage of wiggling fingers. Any hint of sadness or melancholy is forgotten, replaced by breathless laughter. Even when you two roll off the bed, you refuse to cease your battle for dominance.</p><p> </p><p>It’s only when Jesse finally manages to buckle his belt around your hips that you surrender. You’re both breathing heavily, and you slowly bring a hand up to tuck his hair—when did it get this long?—behind his ear. He freezes at your gentle touch, desert-hued eyes shimmering with affection. The ensuing kiss is slow and deliberate. You blindly feel for his hand, then lace your fingers through his.</p><p> </p><p>“We deserve this, okay?” You whisper, pulling away. “We deserve to be happy and in love. Never doubt that.”</p><p> </p><p>Jesse blinks, the affirmation bringing heat to his cheeks. He squeezes your hand in response. “Yeah, we do.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>